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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



BY THE BAY 



BY THE BAY 

By LUCIA ETTA LORING (SMITH) 

THE FRONTISPIECE 

FROM A BAS-RELIEF MODELED BY 

BRADETTA L. SMITH 




PAUL ELDER &^ COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS . SAN FRANCISCO 



The author desires to acknowledge the courtesy 
extended by The Sunset Magazine, Overland 
Monthly and Once a Week, in granting permis- 
sion to reprint several of the poems included in 
this little volume. 

Copyright, 1909 pC-. -, ^^-^ n 

by Lucia E.Loring( Smith) • <J D -^ -^ / 






©CI.A25207'.) 



TO T. W. C. 



^ 
^ 



A LIST OF THE VERSES 

Paee 

The Three Islands ... 1 
Dawn on the Bay ... 2 

Vespertine 3 

The Miracle of Day ... 4 

The Mirage 5 

The Demon Cloud ... 6 

Opaline 7 

The Lone Tree .... 8 
The City of a Thousand 

Eyes 9 

A Fancy 10 

Moonlight on the Bay . .11 
In the Shadow . . . .12 
The Two Mountains . . 13 
When Portold Came . .14 
The Eternal Verdure . .15 

Tamalpais 16 

A Question 17 

Copa de Oro 18 

El Camino Real . . . .19 
The Old Guitar-Player . 20 
The Spanish Dancer . .21 
ToaFieldofEschscholtzias 22 
The Pressed Flower . . 23 

On the Hill 24 

The Pause 25 

The Secret 26 

Demi-jour 27 

A Nocturne 28 

The One Star 29 



Page 

Portola 30 

The Deserted Cabin . .31 
The Lure of the Wind . .32 

The Rival 34 

The Rising Fog .... 35 

In Lent 36 

Easter in San Francisco , 37 
The Earthquake Babe . . 38 
California Violets .... 39 
In Chinatown Slums . . 40 
On the Road to Sausalito . 41 
The Human Heart ... 42 

The Marsh 43 

Nightfall 44 

A Sequoia Nun .... 45 
W^oodland Lovers ... 46 
St. Dorothy's Rest ... 47 
The Woodsman .... 48 
Snow on Tamalpais ... 49 
At Bracken Brae .... 50 

Kinship 51 

The Old Trail 52 

Woodland Gossip ... 53 
Ambition and Duty ... 54 
The Eagle Dance ... 55 
The High Sierras ... 56 
The Japanese Wind-bell . 57 

Posing 58 

The Sierras 59 

The W^est 60 



THE THREE ISLANDS 

^-— ^ITHIN the Bay three islands rest, 
m ■ ^ The same hued verdure on each breast, 
1 ■ ^ The same glad waves caress each one, 
^^^^ Yet hope begins, exists, is done, 
As each its separate mission fills, 
Obedient as the Government wills. 

Upon the Island of To Be, 
The youthful patriot trains for sea. 
The Isle of Welcome greets with joy 
The home-returning soldier boy. 
The third Isle buries in its breast 
The privileges men deem best, 
And life is tragic ; hope grows faint. 
Upon the Island of Restraint. 




DAWN ON THE BAY 

SILVER Bay within gray slopes 

That circling girt it round, 
Unclasped but at the ocean's throat 
To greet the harbour-bound. 
Above it veiling fog, low-hung, 

Broods over city towers, 
Awaiting in a calm suspense 
The miracle of hours. 

There comes a rippling wave of light 

Across the distance gray, 
A sun-kissed peak uplifts its head 

To greet the dawn of day. 
The fog, from sun-lit massacre, 

Flees all along the line, 
The dancing Bay is flushed and gay 

W^ith the hues of native wine. 




VESPERTINE 

VESPERTINE tinting of copper and 

gold 
Gilded the low-tide waterways, 
And burnished schooners through the 
haze 
Swept to their moorings gleaming and bold. 
A rosy mist came streaking in 
Above the clustered glistening spires, 
And over the glow of the dead day's fires 
It spread a length like a garment thin. 
The business houses were blank and chilled, 
They looked on throughfares hushed as the dead, 
For noisy venders like wraiths had fled. 
The hum of the city's traffic was stilled. 
Like a gilded moth in its dying throes 
Was the summer day at its peaceful close. 



THE MIRACLE OF DAY 



n 



IGHT up your fires, O Sun god ! 

For lo, a day is bom, 
And swathed in roseate tintings 

Behold the infant mom! 



Light up your fires, O Sun god ! 

For lo, a day has fled, 
And lies, all-glorious mantled, 

As lie the honored dead. 

The sacrificial fires 

Flame all the western way. 
And human thought outreaches 

To realms of Endless Day, 




THE MIRAGE 

'T SUNDO^A^N, on a Berkeley height 
A field of poppies shimmered bright, 
With sleepy flutter and drowsy bend, 
Foretelling day was near an end. 
The sun's reflected poppy hue 
Illumined all the distant view, 
And far across the golden Bay 
Rose in mirage that earlier day ; 
A line of Fathers winding down 
With naked followers, lean and brown, 
And placed by one forgotten, dead. 
The Mountain's cross upraised its head 
To guide galleons that drifting wait 
A breeze to sw^eep them through the Gate, 
To where but hills of shifting sands 
Lay where a busy City stands. 

Then — sundown on a Berkeley height. 
And fields of poppies shimmering bright. 




THE DEMON CLOUt) 

DEMON cloud that streaks the sky with 
fire, 

Above the scalloped tops of trees to 
where 

A city lies, across gray watery space ; 
A crimson cloud of restless heart desire, 
Of things one knows but speaks of with a care, 
Low-voiced and secret, with a warning face, 
Those whispered thoughts that hurry out of sight, 
Freighted with danger for the coming night ! 
The thread-like crescent of the moon peers out 
Between the glowing bars, and patient bides, 
W^hile watching for the crimson cloud to fade. 
She slowly grows the brighter for the rout 
Of demon-hearted scarlet Thought that hides 
Within the interval when night is made ; 
That Twilight of temptation, when the soul 
Feels drawn to fiery depths beyond control. 



OPALINE 

CHE sky has an opaline sheen, 
Turquoise melting through gold into 
roseate bloom, 
With the silver flash of a curved blade 
of a moon 
Like a cimeter sharp and keen. 
Where over the glistening Bay 
You linger, so far away, 
The masses of purplish blur 
Outline the City's height, 
And the flashing and vanishing lure 
Of the Alcatraz light 
Is like a mischievous eye. 
Everything 's fickle and changing, like opals, 

tonight, 
But not you nor I ? Not you nor I. 



THE LONE TREE 

LONE tree, black 'gainst a luminous 

sky, 
And the red-gold eye of a moon 
That peers over purple upland high. 
Then the faint far bit of an old-time tune 
That flutters out from some distant door; 
And the summer day will return no more. 




THE CITY OF A THOUSAND EYES 

nIKE some demon's wing, of a monstrous 
size, 
Spread a flame-streaked cloud in the 
western skies, 
Above a mass of tree and spire, 
That shows as black as night, 
While below, the City shore is bright 
With gem-like lights from a thousand eyes. 
Through a half-shut lid comes peering soon 
The slim bright eye of a silver moon. 
She plucks the feathers of sullen fire 
From the wing-like cloud of fading ire, 
Until she reigns supreme in her might ; 
From her curved throne of sapphire height 
She sheds soft peace where the City lies 
Asleep but for those thousand eyes. 



A FANCY 



H 



IKE a draped sarcophagus, in some ancient 
princess' tomb, 
Does the Maiden mountain loom. 
And above in azure gloom 
Is a slender fiery moon, 
With a single glittering star. 
Is it Tamalpais or Egypt that we gaze on 
from afar? 



10 



MOONLIGHT ON THE BAY 

^-«-^HEN crimson pales, and gray becomes a 
# I % blue 

1 ■ ^ Intense and pure, illumined, yet serene, 
vA>^ With argent tintings of the softest sheen, 
A witchery transforms the present view, 
And veils it in a gossamer so new 

That shadowy as a dream all things are seen, 

Yet bright beneath an amethystine screen, — 
And life takes on again a hopeful hue. 
Illusively the fancies of a past 

Flit to and fro within the silver gloom. 

And smooth the edges of the present woes : 
The leaden burdens of the day we cast 

Into the radiant pathway of the moon, 
And, lion-hearted, seek a cheered repose. 



11 



IN THE SHADOW^ 

nIKE some dream of a vanished love- 
time, 
All phantom-like, dim and gray, 
Is the misty Bay and the mountains 
At the close of the summer day, 
Enwrapped in the world of shadows 

Unreal as some alien shore, 
And sad as the smile of a lover 
Who is beloved no more. 



12 




THE TW^O MOUNTAINS 

'BOVE the Bay two mountains rise 
And pierce the fog-line of the skies. 
The Maiden sleeps with restful face 
Outlined against the blue of space. 

So has she slept for many a year 

Nor feared Diablo frowning near. 

She takes the stranger to her breast, 

And shows a land with plenty blest. 

Diablo with a mighty ire 

Holds to his heritage of fire. 

He strews obstructions at his feet, 

The ardent climber to defeat ; 

W^ith haughty bluntness claims his own, 

And watches, from the clouds, alone. 



13 



W^HEN PORTOLA came 

^-«-^HEN Portola first came, he tore 
m I ^ The veil of an obscurity 
V I ^ From this Bay country's gracious 
^<A>^ shore, 
And gave it to a seeking world 
In all its virgin purity. 
His eyes beheld what now^ we see. 
The joy he felt holds endless sway 
Of pulsing pride in countless hearts ; 
For w^hat he claimed is ours, today. 
The veil of his obscurity 
We rent for our fiesta gay. 



14 




THE ETERNAL VERDURE 

'UNNY slopes with wild oats waving, 
Starred with blue and glints of gold, 
In your soft insistent raving 
Do you mourn for days of old. 

When the feet of vanished padres 

Trod your green unbroken way, 

And Don Gaspar, gazing o'er you, 

Saw the shining distant Bay ? 

All those mighty ones, historic, 

Long have slept in earthly graves. 

But the green eternal verdure 

In the breeze still proudly waves. 



15 




TAMALPAIS 

" Only man knows discontent." 

'RE you mourning in your sleep, maiden 
mountain, 
That you drape your head in grays ? 
Is it thought of other days 
That have fled their destined ways 
But to vanish into spray in Time's fountain ? 
Like Van Winkle, in the tale, would you waken ? 
Does the tread of climbing feet 
Cause your waiting heart to beat 
As when once the footsteps fleet 
Of the Indian hunter trod in the bracken ? 

I am answered as I gaze, and upbraided, 

For the gray gloom rolls away. 

Moving slowly toward the Bay, 

And your sun-lit slopes display 
Green content with the depths purple-shaded. 



16 



A QUESTION 

^-™-^HY still keep the name for our beautiful 
m ■ ^ flower 

1 ■ ^ Of one who 's not seen it since that early 
VlX hour, 

"When the Russian ship Rurick was here in our Bay, 
In sight of hills, poppy-hued, just as today ? 
Why from Dr. Eschscholtz not the honor reclaim, 
Though Camisso, his friend, did establish the name? 
It 's not spelt phonetic ; it cannot be sung ; 
It 's an indrawn breath and a sneeze, in one : 

Eschscholtzia. 

The old Spanish name, when the century was young, 
Like liquid gold, musically, flow^ed from the tongue. 
This name was descriptive of shape and of hue. 
Of the country's great wealth, and prosperity due. 
'T was a name that was royal, and fitting as dower 
For a royally tinted, a queen-poppy flower ! 
It makes her a-kin to our old missions gray, 
Our mountains, and rivers, our towns, when we say : 

Copa de Ore. 



17 



COPA DE ORO 

OF FLO^A/'ERS, a matchless one! 
Nurtured by fog and sun, 
Seeded from golden sand 
Dropped from the miner's hand, 
Thou hast in silken fold 
Blended the red and gold 
Of skies, when suns belate 
Drop through the Golden Gate. 
Hearted with Spanish flame, 
Goblet of gold, thy name, 
Cling to the foothill's side 
Strong in thy glorious pride. 
Thou hast the richest ore, 
Found on this golden shore. 



18 



EL CAMINO REAL 

CHE Royal Highway follows the shore, 
One day's length from each Mission 
door; 
A phantom roadw^ay, when day has 
sped, 
For it echoes to the patient tread 
Of gowTied ones who rest and pray 
Where moonlit ruins mark the way. 
Their flitting shadows rest a while 
'Neath crumbling arch devoid of tile. 
While others at each new^ bronze bell 
Send back a peal that all is well. 
If you would tread this King's Highway, 
It 's free to all throughout the day, 
But those who have a better right, 
The phantom fathers, pass by night. 



19 



THE OLD GUITAR- PLAYER 

IN A comer dim, on an old guitar, 
As on its strings she played. 
Forgotten memories came to life 
In the old adobe's shade. 
Remembered songs had a wondrous power, 
As her thin brown fingers strayed, 
For on the strings of my heart, alas, 
Not on the guitar, she played. 

With dancing rhythm the fantasy 

Of old fiestas came to me. 

All that had lived, and loved, and died. 

Once sweet and gay with Spanish pride. 

Now lived, and throbbed, and passed away, 

W^hile on those chords her fingers lay. 

I'd give — if but to be once more — 

A string has snapped. The dream is o'er. 



20 




THE SPANISH DANCER 

SCARLET skirt with a glittering band. 
Black velvet bodice, and gay fringed sash, 
A jaunty bolero, and fan in hand, 
And a fragrant rose with a crimson flash 

Peeping out from behind the filmy lace 

That half-reveals, half-hides her face. 

It 's nothing new to you. 

Her dark eyes glow with youthful fire, 
While arching feet now tap, now trip, 
Two graceful arms wave high and higher 
At lithesome bending from the hip ; 
Kneeling, bending, leaping quick 
To the castanets' gay click. 
It 's nothing new to you. 

A whirl of skirts and flash of red, 
The music stops with lingering hiss 
As soft as her remembered kiss, 
The saucy Spanish sprite has fled. 
But underneath the bodice gay 
She hides the heart she 's danced away. 
It 's something new to you. 



21 



TO A FIELD OF ESCHSCHOLTZIAS 



fi 



ARE sunset flowers of fiery hue, blending 
The crimson and gold of the day that is 

ending, 
You seeded from dust through pioneer 
fingers 
To be a reminder of glory that lingers. 
When through the Gold Gate the red sun is 

sinking. 
You close your petals like sleepy eyes blinking, 
A message you nod with haughty grace swajdng 
Your slender green stem with the weight of the 
saying. 



22 



THE PRESSED FLOWT^R 

CHE faded flower in the yellowed book, 
In its dry flatness treasures not one look 
Of airy grace, on slender stem once bent. 
But from the dried reminder floats a scent, 
So delicate but still so real, so fine, 
The picture of that summer field's fair view 
Rises in clearest outline — 
And I dream of you. 



23 



ON THE HILL 

©HERE are strange sweet sounds when 
the day is o'er, 
The sleepy call of the brooding bird, 
The lisp of the insect, and the blurred 
Distant murmur from many a door ; 
The evening hymn of mingled cheer 
Is a harmony good for the soul to hear. 



24 



THE PAUSE 

^-p-^HEN the Day is reminiscent, and her gauzy 
W I ^ blue and red 

1 ■ F Drapes about the throat of evening when 
^JL^ the summer sun has sped, 
All the world that cares to listen hears the pausing 

of her heart. 
Like the weary soul that lingers half-reluctant to 

depart, 
Or the wave that pauses, poising, on the margin of 

the sand; 
'T is the faltering of all things ere they seek the 

Never Land. 



25 



THE SECRET 



a 



FOGGY sky with a stain of red, 

Grim houses guarding a down-hill street, 

And a secret sad in a friend's gray life, 
Makes the world like a cloistered retreat. 



26 



DEMI-JOUR 

OARK hilly masses form a frieze 
Against the silver sky, 
And through the jetty spurs of trees 
The flower of night draws nigh ; 
The creamy blossom of a moon 
With essence of a lotus bloom. 
As one more day swings to the past 
Recalled dreams of life come fast. 



27 



A NOCTURNE 

a SPRING nocturne of green and gold, 
Vivid fields with cowslips starred, 
The sky with rose and violet barred 
Where moves a clear moon, slim and 
cold. 
A purple mist and turquoise deep 
Driving the ochre shine away, 
And a stretch of livid gleaming Bay. 
Beyond the rust-brown house-roof steep 
On a cowslip hill is a leafy tree, 
"With dark cool shadows, moonlight tipped. 
And there a maid, so tender-lipped, 
Is waiting alone for me. 



28 



'THE ONE STAR" 

CHE deep blue pool of a summer sky- 
Is bounded by vague gray hills, afar, 
And in the blue is a single star. 
" The one star," a poet once said. 
But sweetheart and poet sleep with the dead, 
Yet his dream of the star will not die. 



29 



PORTOLA 

XF FROM that strange mysterious 
bourne 
The early governor could return, 
And standing on the hills afar 
Hear everywhere of Portold, 
Would sometimes glints of mighty ire 
Show in his dark eyes' glorious fire 
To hear from cities by the Bay 
Of Porto'la and Por'tola? 
Or would he smile, content to see 
The glory of his memory? 



30 




THE DESERTED CABIN 

XL MATTED lie the damp dead 
leaves 
On sodden paths unmarred by feet, 
The dust-grimed windows' shrouded 
gaze 
Obscures an emptiness complete. 
The rude hearth where home-fires burned 
Is cold, and gray with ash upturned. 
But through the mass of matted leaves 
Some blades of tender green upspring ; 
The tangled garden growth is warm 
With hint of bud and flowering thing ; 
And round the cabin windows twine 
The scarlet buds of passion vine. 



31 



THE LURE OF THE W^IND 

ON MOUNTAIN top, at close of day, I gaze 
on billowy trees, 
I hear the rushing of the wind, like tide of 
coming seas ; 
Far down below, and miles away, break waves in 

foamy lines, 
But echoing over waving trees, I hear the roar of 
pines. 

W^ith palsied age the white-oaks shake, resisting 

with their might ; 
The red Madrones, like Spain's coquettes, flirt with 

the changing light ; 
The tasselled Redwoods, sensitive to lightest gasp of 

breeze. 
Are quivering with a tender grace amid the mass of 

trees. 

Above, around, below me swells the rising, restless 

tide, 
The siren call of mountain wind. Desire at her side. 
Dry leaves are gathering near my feet, in pressure, 

close and strong; 
But I am of the earth no more ; I hear the luring 

song. 



32 



The damp, sweet breath of woods upstirs beneath 

my restless tread 
In protest, eloquent but vain — I go where dreams 

are bred ; 
Those dreams of joy, exalted, pure, that on the 

heights abide. 
My soul upon the wild wind soars, subservient to 

that tide. 



33 



THE RIVAL 



fi 



'LASHING of yellow and dash of red, 
Swinging rebosa and flirt of head, 
I see you coming with dancing feet 
To where the shadows kiss as they meet, 
Querida, my querida (beloved) ! 

To my embraces swiftly you run. 
Red-cheeked amoura, joyous-eyed one ! 
The breath of rapture, love meeting flame, 
As soft your warm lips whisper my name, 
Querida, my querida ! 

Clinging the closer, your lips on mine, 
I am soon drunken with love's sweet wine, 
Blindfold, enravished, and deaf to all fear 
As long, beloved, as you are near, 
Querida, my querida ! 

Keen is his anguish, noiseless his hate, 
Flashes his blade with a severing fate. 
Diosf We stagger. He lies at our feet. 
Adios, dear one, until we meet, 
Querida, my querida ! 

Flashing of yellow and dash of red, 
Clinging rebosa and droop of head, 
I w^atch you going with anxious heart 
To where the shadows kiss as they part, 
Querida, my querida ! 

34 




THE RISING FOG 

SKY with brooding fog-bank gray, 
Mist-shrouded hills, and gloomy Bay, 
A sun that hides his face, 
The damp of winter in the air, 

And chilling quiet everywhere 

That nothing can efface ; 

Then, in the East faint blue is seen, 

While hill-slopes show a tender green 

As sun-rays light their sides ; 

The western sky gleams silvery bright, 

The Bay 's a crystal line of light, 

A dazzling orb now blinds the eyes. 

And mortal spirit-levels rise. 



35 



IN LENT 

CHE leaden rain incessant weeps, 
The gray-garbed earth with moisture 
steeps, 
The Easter-lily hidden sleeps 
In lowly prison. 

The penitential season run, 
The warmth of Heaven's uplifting Sun 
Draws heart of Man and flower as one, 
For Christ has risen. 



36 



EASTER IN SAN FRANCISCO 

CHE weeping heavens but complain 
Of Mother Earth's extensive pain ; 
Through Lent she doth in travail lie 
That fruit and flower she may supply. 
And when the Easter sun shall glow, 
The land a beauteous face will show, 
With buds outbursting into flowers 
As radiant-hued as rainbow showers. 
The travail crowned with joy at last, 
Forgotten is the sorrow past. 

On ashen heaps the flowers bloom. 

O'er hollowed ruin buildings loom. 

The quake and fire feed a past; 

A radiant city rises fast, 

In garments of a newly bom 

She greets with hope the Easter mom. 



37 



THE EARTHQUAKE BABE 

QEATH a flame-lighted sky, amid terror 
and strife, 
He had breathed out his first feeble 
effort of Hfe, 
But, raised from the chill of a quiescent breast 
In the arms of a child-stricken pity, 
He had builded a home amid homeless unrest 
In the heart of a ruin-strewn city. 



38 



CALIFORNIA VIOLETS 

O RAIN-WET flowers! I cuUed you all 
To drape you as a purple pall 
On a wintry memory; 
The fragrance of your sundered lives 
W^ith subtle influence revives 
A hope of Spring to me. 

Go, breathe the thought inspired in my breast, 
And bring to other lives a Spring-tide blest. 



39 



IN CHINATOW^N SLUMS 

CHE cherry orchard was bright with 
bloom, 
A wind swept through the fragrant 
trees; 
No blossom that fell was fairer than she, 
While he was the blighting breeze. 

In a pang of longing for girlhood fled 

With Love that blasted, she knew not how, 

She donned a muslin like blossoms shed; 

He had loved her once — he could save her now. 

He was showing some friends through Chinatown 
slums 

W^hen he saw^ her face, so wistful and fair ; 
He smelt the fragrant cherry-blooms 

In her belt and the fluffy ma^ of hair. 

"Turn your face away." He cast down his eyes 
As he saw her over the casement lean. 

"These are moral lepers," with pious disgust, 
And he hurried onward, "unclean! unclean!" 



40 



ON THE ROAD TO SAUSALITO 

^ly^^HERE a shady road is winding down to 
m ■ ^ Sausalito Bay, 
IMF There 's a little girl a- walking and a- 
^^ML^ dreaming all the way, 
While the sunshine-flecks are catching at her wavy 

wind-blown hair, 
And a-kissing dusty dimples in her arms so brown 

and bare. 

Where an open gap, revealing, shows the marsh- 
land silvery green, 

Near the blue Bay with its islands, and beyond the 
City's sheen. 

She 's a-standing and a-gazing wistfully across the 
Bay; 

And I know of whom she 's dreaming, little wind- 
blown maid in gray ! 



41 



THE HUMAN HEART 

CHE heart two portals opens wide : 
One to the friends on every side ; 
But, veiled behind a curtain thin, 
They cannot see the thoughts within. 
Deep in a comer is a door: 
Here, naught obscuring hangs before, 
And secrets of a heart lie bare 
To those we love ; to those who care. 



42 



THE MARSH 

QO LONGER is the marsh-land a thing one 
might despise, 
For Summer dipped her paint-brush into 
the depths of skies 
To tint the low expanses with roseate-purple sheen. 
She blued the pools and channels with clouded tur- 
quoise-green. 
And now the bordering mountains, all burned a 

somber brown, 
Devoid of Spring-time color, with mighty envy frown. 



43 



NIGHTFALL 

^^-™-^HEN the meadow-larks are calling 

W I ^ In a sweet and sleepy way, 

IMF And the busy world is resting after 

VEX day, 

When the tired hands are idle, 

And the mind can seek its play, 

Then the dreams of old ambitions 

Come with sad, resistless sway, 

And life is worth the while ; 

For the weary heart can smile 

At all the petty worries of the day. 



44 



A SEQUOIA NUN 

OOWN columned cloisters, dim and green, 
she walks, 
A nun-like creature, thoughtful, sweet and 
rare. 
Her heart attunes to matins with the birds, 
She hears, head bowed, each rustling leaflet's prayer. 
The world's frivolities are far away 
In distant cities gathered round the Bay, 
And life of Love and Strife seek not this maid 
Sworn to a sisterhood with woodland shade. 



45 



W^OODLAND LOVERS 

CHE dying summer's breath, sweet-scented, 
prayed 
For happy hearts encouraged in her shade. 
So Indian summer, with the balmiest days, 
Extends the limit of the season's plays. 
The rustling leaves, down-dropping to the feet, 
AVhisper that days are flying, heedless one ! 
The crispy dry bits 'neath your steps repeat 
" Be warned ! " for soon the woodland play is done ; 
So bind your hearts while still is fragrance shed 
That, in the rain and chill when summer 's fled, 
You may be cheered by love, and then recall 
The tender woods, and that charmed scene of all. 



46 



ST. DOROTHY'S REST 

IN A redwood grove its glories hide. 
There 's a rustic cross on the mountainside, 
By mother-love lifted, pain-crucified ; 
A bit of peace on a mountain crest 
Is St. Dorothy's Rest. 

When the fire-light shines in the cheerful gloom, 
The pictured child, in the living-room. 
Smiles down on the health and joy expressed 
By the crippled children in the nest 
At St. Dorothy's Rest. 

The brown chapel doors have opened wide, 

For the halt and the lame, and the woodland bride ; 

The stream of life is broad and blest 

That flows through the gate, with rough bark drest, 

At St. Dorothy's Rest ; 

For when the birds, with their chattering gay, 

Make love in Nature's happiest way, 

From the building of their woodland home 

Till the eggs are hatched and the birdlings flown, 

There are crippled children in the nest 

Of St. Dorothy's Rest. 



47 



THE W^OODSMAN 

^-— -^HERE once Kit Carson trod the trail 
^ ■ ^ To valley depths below, 
IMF The woodsman drives his four-horse 
^^JL^ team 

With many a hoarse halloo. 
The same tall pines chant ceaselessly 

As when in Carson's ear 
They sounded warning requiems, 

But the woodsman does not hear. 
The blazoned way, the granite shapes. 

No meaning to him brings ; 
He takes his way at dusk of day, 

And, fearless, loudly sings. 



48 




SNOV/ ON TAMALPAIS 

'LREADY hint of flowers show 
On every sloping side; 
For roses blow, 
And row^ on row 

The scarlet glow 

Of hedges, where geraniums hide, 

Leads to the valley side. 

Against the azure sky asleep, 

The well-known outlines rise. 

But white and deep; 

A silvered heap, 

W^ith crystal sweep. 

Now drapes her, bride-like, where she lies, 

The Maid of Tamalpais I 



49 



AT BRACKEN BRAE 

CHE noisy stream with grave intent 
Hums out a requiem of content, 
As drifting leaves upon its breast 
Float downward to a peaceful rest. 
The frail leaf knows one season's span, 
But we, of the great Human Clan, 
Brief season of content can claim, 
Then drift to much we cannot name. 
How many by this fern-fringed brink 
Have stooped from brimming cup to drink 
And felt the heart responsive thrill 
To droning hiss and rushing rill ? 
Where are they now ? The stream's reply 
Unchanging rumbles droning by. 

The Streams of Life forever flow 
W^here human faith alone can go. 
The bright Tomorrow^ is the song 
Reechoed as they flow along. 
Eternity 's the minor strain, 
Eternity 's the deep refrain 
Of woods and streams, with soft regret 
Lest we weak mortals should forget. 



50 




KINSHIP 

LONG low stretch where winding rivers 

shine, 
The sleepy call of birds, the low of kine, 
A toiler, black against a sky aflame. 
Look at this picture. Can you give the name ? 

If near that sailboat, seen as if on land, 

A windmill stirred, then Holland were at hand. 

If loomed a camel thwart that sunset sky, 

A distant caravan, and palm trees high, 

It would be Eg3^t and the Nile, no doubt. 

It is our San Joaquin with these left out. 

A long low stretch where winding rivers shine, 

The sleepy call of birds, the low of kine, 

A toiler, black against a sky aflame, 

All men are kin ; all lives and views the same. 



51 




THE OLD TRAIL 

BLEACHED gray road to the Divide 
Along the old Kit Carson trail, 
Its powdered granite dust conceals 
The gist of many an old-time tale. 

The feet of brawny men, close-pressed, 

Have halted to defend their own, 

And pathos, love, and tragedy 

This winding trail has known. 

The blazoned tree-trunks mark their graves, 

And reminiscent travelers hear 

The tall pines chant a requiem, 

In memory of the pioneer, 

For many strove, and loved, and died 

On the old trail to the Divide. 



52 




V/OODLAND GOSSIP 

HEAVENLY quiet brooded o'er the 

trees, 
My thoughts attuned to rustling leaves 

and breeze, 

"Whose kindly whispers set my doubts at ease ; 
When hoarsely rose a clamoring of crows 
Black-omened, overhead amidst the green, 
My secret they proclaimed as gossips will, 
But I cared not who thought it well or ill, 
For from the shadows tripped my maid serene. 



53 



AMBITION AND DUTY 

'MBITION is a song of joy ; a striving 
For blossoms far above the normal 
ease; 
While Duty is a monotone : a weeding 
About the soil-tamped roots that mother these. 




54 



THE EAGLE DANCE 

CHE young braves beat with muffled 
bone, 
The old squaws drone in monotone, 
The circling dancer giddy swirls. 
Now high, now low, he swings and whirls, 
Then slow his winged arms extend, — 
They dip, with bird-like swoop they bend ; 
His body crouches for the flight, 
Head forward thrust, eyes steely bright. 

A naked body, sinewy, brown, 
An eagle's feather tops his crown ; 
Upon his lean bare arms are bound 
An eagle's wings. There 's not a sound 
Escapes the straight, unconquered mouth 
Of this sad Redman of the south. 
The visions of an eagle rise 
And hide the curious white men's eyes. 
Young, bold as in the days of yore 
He sees the mighty eagle soar. 

With swoop, and dip, new energy 
He dances, dreaming he is free. 



55 



THE HIGH SIERRAS 

O MIGHTY mountains, misty-crowned 
and bare, 
I grieve to dwell so far from you ; so 
low 
I cannot raise my eyes and see the snow 
Upon your cloud-encircled crests in air ! 
And yet, remembering, I'm w^ith you there. 
Beloved Sierras ! any other view 
Loses its charm if once compared with you, 
And longing still I w^ander everywhere. 
Your lofty grandeur carved upon my heart 
As on a graven tablet, for all time. 
Unchanged, and durable as stone, 
With influence that never can depart; 
For petty w^orries shrank from the Sublime 
That voiceless came upon me there, alone. 



56 



THE JAPANESE WIND-BELL 

OBELL of a pagan temple, 
That with Nature's softest sigh 
Breathes a prayer of a Shinto priesthood, 
What mean you to such as I ? 
Can you tinkle reverential prayers of a Christian 

kind 
With all those gaudy emblems made for the 

heathen mind? 
The tri-shaped blue meant Fugi, 

The Sacred Mount of Love, 
But blue and Faith are symbols, 

And Faith can mountains move ; 
The strips of long wistaria 

Are gay of Hope expressed ; 
The flowered squares are tokens 
Of Charity, world-blessed. 

So, Bell, with your tinkling message, 

Breathe many a double prayer 
For the peace of the One and the Other 

Who worship with you there. 



57 




POSING 

'Y DEAR little maid of Japan, 
A-flirting and twirling your fan, 
There is rouge on your cheek, 
And a dimple that 's deep, 
O quaint little maid of Japan ! 

I'm sure that your gown and the rest, 

The sash, and the gay flowered vest. 

E'en the fan in your hand. 

All came from the land 

Of the coy little maid of Japan. 

You 're posing remarkably well, 
And really I ought not to tell. 
But the hand that 's in sight 
Is a trifle too white 
For a brown little maid of Japan. 

For you are a fraud, I am sure. 

Though your looks are so meek and demure, 

And the photo, I fear, 

Will show plainly, my dear. 

That you are no maid of Japan. 



58 




THE SIERRAS 

'E LOFTY ones whose blunt uplifted 

crests 
Show purple-gray through distances of 

blue, 

The mighty image of your spirit rests 
Upon me now, at memory of you, 
And grayish Trouble glints with brighter hue. 
How often, lying on your rugged breasts. 
Have I divorced those most unwelcome guests 
Called W^orriments. 'Twas as you said, 
" To thine own self be true." 
I felt your ponderous call to me, 
O mighty mountains of a glorious West ! 
And like the Psalmist lifting up mine eyes. 
Absorbed a strength from heights I could not see, 
Absorbed endurance also, with the rest, 
O hoary-crowned Sierras, grave and wise ! 



59 



THE WEST 

CHE choicest colors the eye can hold, 
Turquoise and crimson, purple and 
gold, 
Glow in the West. 
The finest thoughts when the day grows cold 
Bring peace and hope if the fretting soul 

Looks to the West. 
W^ith the world progressing every day, 
The same old watch-word paves the way, 
"On to the West." 



60 



HERE ENDS BY THE BAY, A BOOK OF 
VERSE BY LUCIA E. LORING (SMITH). 
FRONTISPIECE FROM A BAS-RELIEF 
MODELED BY BRADETTA L. SMITH. 
OF THIS EDITION TWO HUNDRED &> 
FIFTY COPIES \VERE IMPRINTED BY 
THE TOMOYE PRESS, SAN FRANCISCO, 
FOR PAUL ELDER ^ COMPANY, UNDER 
THE DIRECTION OF J. H. NASH, IN THE 
YEAR NINETEEN HUNDRED &> NINE. 



ma^^^"^ 



COfY r,s=\ TO cftT :-.v. 



